


Tourney of Apples

by NeverAgainEvan



Series: Different Roads Sometimes Lead to the Same Castle [11]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All of Rhaegar's Kid's have Targ names, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dragons, F/M, Female Joffrey Baratheon, Goldengrove, Increasingly dark as the story continues, Joffrey has a twin, Jon Snow is called Laenor, Lyanna and Rhaegar Brought Back Dragons, M/M, Multi, Politics, Rhaegar Has too Many kids, Rhaegar has Eight Children, Summerhall (ASoIaF), Treason for Love, so two joffs, something new for me and this community, there's more Targaryen names out there, why give jon a name like jaehaerys and aemon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAgainEvan/pseuds/NeverAgainEvan
Summary: Rhaegar and Lyanna brought back dragons at the Tower of Joy, now twenty-two years later the Targaryen Dynasty is on the collapse of a Second Dance of Dragons; one beget on love and overindulgence. If Duncan and Jenny caused a storm, this will cause a Dance.
Relationships: Aegon VI Targaryen/Original Female Character(s), Aegon VI Targaryen/Ysilla Royce, Joffrey Baratheon/Jon Snow, Jon Snow/Original Female Character(s), Myrcella Baratheon/Trystane Martell, Roslin Frey/Robb Stark, Samwell Tarly/Margaery Tyrell
Series: Different Roads Sometimes Lead to the Same Castle [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1343230
Comments: 17
Kudos: 23





	1. Tourney of Apples I

**Author's Note:**

> Another Jon Snow and Female Joffrey story who could have guessed, lol. This story is just my urge to write a massive tourney event in Westeros mixed with my love of the outstanding power, politics, and betrayal in the reigns of the Targaryen kings with dragons (Jaehaerys and Viserys), and the Dunk and Egg tales. 
> 
> Like usual I am planning for ten chapters, but lets see if I actually finish this story...

Tourney of Apples I

Laenor laid down his daughter to sleep in Jena’s old bed. He tried to smooth out her unruly curls she shook loose during the feast after he painstakingly combed them into a bun. But Daella got unlucky, both of her parents had tight curls. Jena’s own red-gold hair was frizzier than his own silver curls but just as tight.

The girl crumbled into the soft mattress and hugged a pillow tight to her chest as she was wont to do. On Daella’s or Jena’s namedays his daughter would ask for them to sleep here in remembrance of the late Lady of Summerhall. To please her, Laenor had gotten in the habit of ordering his servants to dust off his late wife of three years chambers days before either of their namedays. _The servants always outdid themselves_ , he thought as he ran his hand over the newly fitted bedsheets. Fine and smooth sheets of the highest quality a prince could give his wife. Embroidered into the coverlet was several small purple lightning bolts and white dragons gliding around them.

He left Daella’s side with nary a noise and walked to the macassar ebony desk Jena would do numbers and write letters. It was empty and devoid of anyone having ever worked here, but nary a dust mite in sight.

Laenor could find no fault in the chambers. Not that he would berate his household for botching a cleaning they only did once or twice a year, three at the most. As Daella slept in peace, her red-gold curls tussled and a small smile on her face, Laenor wandered the spacious rooms with only a small candle as lighting.

For Daella had her ritual. Of sleeping and dreaming in a bed she barely remembered having laid in with a mother she lost before she could form full sentences. Laenor had his very own and nearly as personal _ritual_.

He sat in Jena’s old chaise. The velvet and mantle soft coverings threatened to devour him if he relaxed to much. Jena had cared for all things soft, an antithesis to her personality. The marches bred hard men and women his father told him when he came to Summerhall for the first time.

“There is a harsh but peaceful life in the valleys and mountains of Dorne,” Rhaegar had said. “I hope you can find that peace in such a stony life.”

Laenor had been given Summerhall as his mother wanted and married the daughter of one of her favorite ladies as outlined in her will she had made before the wasting sickness took Queen Lyanna when he was young boy. She built this place, or at least designed the palace. His mother took delight in tasks like that. She rode to Oldtown to meet a maester mastered in architecture, and together the both of them built this palace.

She designed this room with the intent of giving King Rhaegar the right to enjoy his domains after spending the nights with her. To give it an open look the rooms were in one giant wedge shape. The chambers, solar, and antechambers were both open to a long and expansive stepped balcony that stretched a quarter around the upper floor of Aegon’s Dome.

The stepped balcony was a few inches lower than the floor of the rooms, so from Jena’s favorite place on her chaise she could see far into the distance. Dyanna’s Waterfall was just beyond his view into the darkness. Though he could not see it, he could hear the falling water. The sound as peaceful and natural as Jena’s singing had once been.

Before her favorite spot was a footrest of the finest raiment, soft but resilient. It had been designed as a footstool and storage container. Laenor now reached for it and opened it. A puff of dust greeted this attempt.

_Next time I will make sure someone dusts off the inside of this footrest_ , he thought with a groan as the cloud of dust rose to his face.

With a cough and wave Laenor cleared the dust from his face. Inside was a few moth-eaten decorated silks from Myr and a cotton headdress Jena loved to wear on cold nights. But what Laenor sought for was the wheel of embroidery that his wife had loved to keep close.

Laenor had forgotten if Jena had done the original work or Rhaenys had or maybe his grandmother Rhaella did the embroidery. But that did not matter for the four years they were married Jena had added more scenes to the wheel. Events she found joy in, or even somber thoughts her mind could not hope to ignore without stitching it on her favorite item.

The original work was a white direwolf and a white dragon fighting. But below it was a fine work he knew was of Jena’s own hand showing the direwolf and dragon huddled together under a thunderstorm cloud. Followed by a scene of the direwolf and dragon mating and making a winged wolf. In a clockwise format next was a winged white direwolf swimming with the storm never far from the wolf. As if the storm was watching over the wolf.

Laenor dragged his finger over more scenes of the direwolf soaring through a storm, and one sewn in picture had the storm giving birth to a red-gold winged direwolf pup. That one always brought a smile to his face, but the proceeding work always brought him pain.

This work was a storm raining over a grave. The storm’s intensity had died away to just a drizzle over the grave. Laenor felt tears roll down his cheeks. _The last work she stitched onto her wheel_.

Jena had never quite got over the death of Aemon. The young boy with the silver-gold hair of his grandfather and the grey eyes of his father’s mother. The babe had lasted nearly a month before the gods decided to fill his chest with enough fluid his last two days alive were a bitter agony.

The small and frail coughs still haunt him a night from time to time. But Jena’s mind… became clouded over in grief from the coughs, every day he would find her beside the grave of Aemon. Daella was still just a wee thing walking around following Laenor from dawn to dusk, but even her presence did not help the dark pall over the palace. Jena stayed by the grave from dawn to dusk for days, once even through a storm he had to carry her from. She was never the same, frankly Laenor wasn’t either, and grief was her companion till she herself succumbed to a fever and cough as well.

Laenor thinks the despair Jena suffered was the worst thing that haunted him. Laenor might regret many things, several of the things he regrets were unavoidable or caused by his actions alone. But Aemon’s and Jena’s deaths were the regrets he would carry to the grave.

He gently placed the wheel back in the footrest’s storage space. He tucked it beneath one of Jena’s silk handkerchief, but before he closed the lid his eyes dragged to the cotton headdress laying forlornly without a head to wear it. Laenor picked it up and without thought smelled it. Somehow Jena’s lovely scent was imprinted onto the clothing more so than any of her dresses.

With a small smile he took it with him as he crawled into the bed behind Daella. He clutched it tight to his chest, just as Daella turned and held on to him. “I love you daddy,” the princess whispered sleepily.

In response Laenor took one arm and wrapped it around her possessively. He drifted to sleep surrounded by his daughter and the smells of his late wife.

* * *

_It’s too early_ , Laenor thought as a hand softly but assuredly shook him awake. Sure, enough when he opened his eyes it was pitch black except for a small oiled lantern a hand. Two shadows awaited him in the darkness. One was clothed in something flowy like a robe, the other in mail.

Laenor groped for his dagger, but when the men noticed they hastily but quietly placated him in familiar voices, “Your highness,” Roeg and Morcar said at once. His mother’s closest friend Roeg tucked his hands in his robes, he was the closest ally that Laenor could have and one of the smartest. _Besides Maester Luthier_ _, but Luthier is untrustworthy_. And Ser Morcar his captain of the guards.

He huffed in annoyance, “It is Jena’s nameday. I left instructions to not be disturbed.”

Roeg the Architect wrung his hands in that nervous way he did even years after coming face to face with Lyanna and dragons. Even after fighting and serving numerous battles and skirmishes Roeg will be timid. Laenor had to smile. “A rider in the night, my lord.”

He arched an eyebrow, “And? Why have you disturbed me?”

“Well…” Roeg started but Morcar was of the impatient sort.

In a gruff huff of words his captain explained that a knight had asked to meet with the Prince of Summerhall but was near turned away till he produced a letter. Which Roeg now handed to him. The scroll was small and light, perfect to fit between plates of steel. The wax dappled in the center had gooseprickles rise along his neck.

Aegon’s crowned three headed dragons greeted him. They had not talked since the Mother’s Day Ball near a year and half ago. He was safely and happily ensconced and married on Dragonstone with a willing wife and mistress. Hoping to get an heir so Laenor won’t inherit after him. Before he could pick the wax and read the letter Roeg stopped him.

“The knight asked to be in your presence when reading the letter. He says he can provide some answers and to receive your response immediately so he can ride back.”

What an annoying coincidence. Everyone knew Jena and Daella’s namedays were Laenor’s days off, but also the days when there were less eyes of unsure loyalty. Laenor only invites his closest friends for these celebrations, and Aegon knows that.

_This letter is serious_ , Laenor rose from the bed and grabbed his kaftan. While he tied the outer tunic to himself, he questioned Roeg, “Is he guarded?”

“Very well,” Morcar said with a furtive glance to Daella’s movements. His daughter would wake soon if they dawdled here any longer. “Ser Malcolm gathered ten men and knights and put him in Dragonbird tower.”

Laenor nodded in appreciation, the Dragonbird tower was the furthest guesthouse in the palace from Aegon’s Dome, and so is only used sparingly. There would be no wandering eyes there. “Good. Has my council been awoken?” He hoped they had enough sense not to wake those lickspittles, liars, and informers.

“No,” Roeg said as he led Laenor out the rooms. “But your cousin Robb and friend Sam have been roused and are on their way there.” In the past week, Robb had come down to Summerhall at the head of a host a hundred strong as he does once or twice every year now. With him came several childhood friends of theirs; Smalljon Umber, Domeric Bolton, Daryn Hornwood, and Edd Karstark, had all arrived to mourn and celebrate with Laenor. And his days were filled with feasting and drinking, wrestling and rowing, and fighting and dancing. Now those days are gone, and it is time to be the Prince of Summerhall again.

With a final look at Daella who turned over from the light in the hall, he smiled and softly closed the door. Laenor led the way with Roeg by his side and Morcar following close behind. They climbed down the curved staircase down to the second floor. Instead of taking the longer more scenic route down the main hallway to the bifurcated stairwell to the main floor, Laenor led them down the servant’s hall where a smaller spiral stairwell resided in a corner of the Dome. The going was quicker and more discreet this way. He had no wish to be seen and talked to by his septon who always seemed to be the first man awake and the last to sleep. He was worse than his other counselors.

“Every castle must have a septon son,” Cersei’s smile was almost mocking it was so fake. “Especially a southron castle such as Summerhall. Oh, I have just the septon, he is smart and dreamy, your friend the Smalljon might even get a kick out of him!” She had clapped and Laenor had no choice but nod and give her his own fake smile.

She had caught him right in front of the High Septon at a feast and had mocked his best friend with a subtle jab. Laenor’s fists still clenched at the reminder of that farce and the mummery he had to wear. Even if Laenor was gone from that place of deceit and treachery, some days he still thought of the Red Keep and all the snakes that slithered around in tis halls.

They crossed the courtyard in the shadows, keeping to the edges. A few drunks were wobbling to rooms in the Dome or in the Tower of Rhaenys. In the distance Laenor heard the giggles and laughter of inebriated lovers fumbling in the dark. Laenor took no part in those celebrations, especially on his wife’s nameday. He was once again glad his own lover was not here, days like this were for Laenor and Daella, no one else.

So, his _righteous_ anger was rising as he turned from the shadows towards the Dragonbird gardens. Amongst the beautiful garden his mother planted he passed plump pale blood-blooms awakening at night, white and serene moonblooms, and frosted winter roses, Laenor walked. But even the meadow-like view of the Dragonbird gardens did nothing to lessen his anger. He prayed this message was worth it.

In a deserted hall in the Dragonbird tower there was a lonely meeting room, that was where they took the late-night rider to await the Prince of Summerhall. Laenor could not say he was surprised at who was the rider so much as why.

Under a shock of orange hair splayed in several directions a landed knight smiled at him. Ser Rolly Duckfield was a large, brawny man and a great knight. But he was not known for his subterfuge, whatever he had to say, Aegon was desperate.

No matter his misgivings he smiled welcomingly, “Ser Rolly Duckfield, it’s been a few years! Are you well?” Laenor said as he grabbed his chair, but Duck rose as if to embrace him. Ser Malcolm put a firm hand on his shoulder to stop his rise. Duck turned an angry glare at the knight. “Forgive Ser Malcolm, Rolly, he means no harm,” Laenor glanced at the other men in the room. Five of his knights, Sam, Robb, Roeg, and Jon’s Kingsguard all sat at the table. “We are unsure of your… visit.”

The knight’s face dropped into a frown, he shook off Malcolm’s hand and rose. Ser Urklyn Magnar of the Kingsguard was the first to his feet but it made no matter. Rolly was not going to hurt him, Laenor and Rolly both knew that he would be a poor assassin. He dropped to a knee before Laenor.

“I profusely apologize for my actions, your highness.” He demurred. “The Crown Prince has ordered me to deliver his message at all costs. I am sorry for any problems I may have caused.”

“This day of mourning,” Robb argued, “has just turned political because of you.”

“I promise that Aegon would not have sent me if it was not urgent,” a contrite look crossed Rolly’s smirk.

“Nonetheless, this is visit is in poor taste, you must understand,” Laenor remarked. The heir to the Iron Thorne has always been extremely covetous to be the center of attention. Now he wants to take the celebration he hosts for life for himself. Laenor _hated_ it.

“He sends his condolences for the insult, and remarks that today at night would be the only time to talk in secrecy.”

“Arrest him milord,” Urklyn urged. Despite being a Kingsguard he still talks like a Skagosi, and act likes one sometimes as well. “Your grace won’t be happy to hear of this talk. The Spiders got eyes here as well. I seen them scurrying about like rats.”

“Let him speak Urklyn,” Roeg admonished exasperated, “we will be here all morn if you do all the talking.”

“I thank you maester, please if you may your highness the letter from Prince Aegon,” Ser Rolly gestured to the letter set before Laenor. He picked it up slowly and broke the wax, the three heads of the dragon breaking. It was a simple letter done in not Aegon’s hand. This hand is the hand that writes all of his letters. His damn mistress’ hand.

_Brother, I bring joyful news with this letter. Saera is great with child, a worthy heir from my own seed. Admittedly, a bastard, you understand. But together, us, and our two dragons we can convince the High Septon and father to have my marriage with the Bronze Bitch annulled. I only ask, no I plead for your help my loyal and loving brother. We can talk more at Goldengrove._

Signed underneath was the bulky hand of his brother and the same fine script as the letter above was his Volantene _whore_ ,

_Prince Aegon of the Dragonstone,_

_Lady Saera Tagaros of the Old Blood,_

Laenor felt the moment his head split in two. He passed it on to Robb. Robb scoffed in the audacity of the letter, but Urklyn and the others paled. “Leave us,” Laenor waved his hands at his knights, “Morcar take the knights to bed, a vow of silence from all of them will be needed. And all those who saw Ser Rolly enter the palace.”

Morcar nodded gravely, he and the knights did not see the contents of the letter. But they knew who sent Rolly and that would be enough to end this here and now. He loved Aegon and knew the foolishness of this request, but he will be damned if a rat told Rhaegar the truth. There will be hell to pay if Rhaegar learned about this plot from anyone but his children.

“You cannot allow this to happen my lord,” Roeg wheezed, his eyes wide in fear. “The Prince of Dragonstone will have Rhaegar and his dragon Urrax burn Summerhall.”

“No one is burning anything, Roeg.” Laenor sighed at his cowardice. “You and my mother built Summerhall, no, the king will not burn the palace, he will strip me of my lands and send me into exile alongside Aegon.”

“And in exile no one to take the throne but Daemion and Viserys,” Sam squeaked. The idea of one of them becoming king scared even Laenor.

Realizing the tide was against him the messenger spoke up, “If the bastard is legitimized when it is born or if Aegon marries Lady Saera, those two are even further from the throne.”

He answered that with an acknowledging nod. Daemion and Viserys had smelled the blood in the waters for seven years now. Laenor and Jena were married on the same day as Aegon and Ysilla Royce were. Two marriages to bring two rebel kingdoms back. It was only regrettable that the great houses of those regions did not have eligible daughters, except to Rhaegar, who undermined the Baratheons and Arryns power by elevating their seconds.

When two years into his marriage Daella was born, Aegon and Ysilla stayed barren. Five years later and they still are barren. The frustration is what must have sent Aegon into Saera’s arms in the first place.

“No one will be going into exile, Laenor,” Robb said.

Without thinking Laenor turned a scowl on his cousin, “You know Rhaegar’s thoughts, coz?”

“No but out of the six dragonriders, you and Aegon can get three maybe four. He cannot exile Laena and Daenerys if they side with you.” Laenor rubbed his chin. Robb understands but doesn’t. Dany will always side with Rhaegar, bringing Terrax with her. And Laena, his only full sibling, was… well… no one knows where she is. Last he heard she was near Faros or such. While her dragon Sunfyre is the fastest and most vigorous of all six of the dragons, she will not return to Westeros in time nor come back for treason. No, she wants no reason to marry and Rhaegar will force that on her the minute she is implicated.

Which left only two dragons to Aegon. Terrax and Urrax, the biggest of the six dragons alive will be together against his Tessarion and Egg’s Vermithor. Viserys seeing a chance to be king will bring Onyx to Rhaegar. That was no way to convince Rhaegar to ask to the High Septon for an annulment.

Trying to use dragons to pressure the king was a folly, a fool’s errand is what this is. “Rhaenys agrees does she not?” Laenor asked. His sister was the brains of all of Aegon’s actions. Ser Rolly nodded. _Curious…_ “How is Ysilla ser?”

The brows drew close on Rolly’s face, “She’s well, I suppose.”

“And does she want her marriage annulled?”

“No, I don’t think she does,” Rolly grunted.

Ser Urklyn boomed in laughter, “Don’t think any lady would willingly give up a chance to be queen!” Silence fell over the schemers at Urklyn’s jape. Laenor looked outside and saw it was still pitch black, but the sun had to rise soon. With the sun rising Rolly needed to be gone as if he was never here. He turned from the window back to Ser Rolly, “Goldengrove… what’s there?”

Goldengrove is the seat of House Rowan, a prestigious and powerful house. They controlled most of the Northmarch. The breadbasket of the Reach. Wheat, horses, aurochs, fruit, vegetables, and all the goods one can eat are grown there. Very prosperous and very powerful.

“A tourney,” he said with an excited look. “The largest since the Tourney at Harrenhal, your highness. Aegon has called it the Tourney of Apples.”

_Like father like son_ , Laenor thought sadly, “And all attendees, are let me guess, allies of Aegon?”

Rolly laughed, “Surely not!” With a reproachful look he continued, “At least not everyone. Lord Rowan is hosting the tourney to find husbands for all his daughters. The eldest will be _the_ lady of Goldengrove after him, and he’s hoping one will be queen.”

“That’s all? Rowan won’t like it when he marries his Volantene lady,” Robb said mockingly. “Then no one helps Prince Aegon.”

Rolly smirked confidently, “No, he has the support of the Tyrells, Baratheons, and a few other minor lords.” Aegon was really serious, Laenor finally realized. Rolly stood once again, “I must return to Griffin’s Roost soon. I came south with Lord Connington and if he were to discover I’m gone for more than a few days the plot may unravel.”

“I see,” Laenor nodded again.

“He will know if you do not support if you’re not at Goldengrove. But your highness, I think you should go and hear what he has to say, even if you do not join him. By your leave?” Laenor dismissed him before he could bow even lower. Morcar or Malcolm will escort him out in secrecy he was sure.

Laenor could feel the rage in him boiling. _What was that idiot of a fool doing now_? As a headache began to grow behind his eyes he groaned. Aegon will be the death of him and Daella. A tourney, planning treason, involving the dragons from the beginning. If Laenor did not know Aegon and Rhaenys better, he would think they are trying to start a Second Dance of the Dragons.

Even if Aegon succeeds the Vale will be in uproar, the High Septon will never agree, Laenor knows this. Harrold Hardyng Arryn and his Royce wife Myranda will be displeased. But they were on Dragonstone and have said no complaints about Saera Tagaros like Ser Robar has made. _Are they involved as well_? This plot has gotten thicker, and the vitalness of it hinges on Laenor’s next moves. He should not get involved… he should not get involved… he should not-

“Send a letter to the king,” Urklyn urged once again. “He made this marriage; he will not see it torn down by adultery.”

“No,” urged Roeg, “You must go yourself my prince if you send word.” The old maester gulped in fear. “You must add your voice against all of Aegon plans, if not surely the queen will poison the meaning of your actions to the king and court.”

“He is a prince, what can Cersei do to him? Summerhall was Lyanna’s and now it is Laenor’s,” Robb argued. _He can take Daella away_ …

Roeg pleaded again, “Do nothing my prince, do not send word, do not go to Goldengrove. Stay with your daughter and peoples. Forget this ever happened!” _I wish I could but with what I know… its impossible. I’m in the midst now that I have received Rolly_.

“I say, do nothing,” Robb opines, “If Rhaegar comes on Urrax one day after a desperate Aegon gets married in some Essosi fashion and starts asking questions, deny help.” _Aegon loves me, but he will not hesitate to throw me into the gaping maw of Urrax to save his own skin…_

Laenor sat silently as Robb and Roeg went back and forth. Both saying he should do nothing, but they disagreed on how to do nothing. Urklyn argued for arresting Rolly. His hastily made council wasn’t betraying their own father’s wishes just their king’s. This was political for them, for Laenor it was family, personal.

Laenor glanced at Samwell Tarly, who sat with a queer face. It was a mixture of confusion, contemplation, and anger. “Sam”, he calls over to his oldest friend. “Your thoughts?”

“Margaery is helping Prince Aegon,” Sam remarks.

“What,” Laenor sat up. It wasn’t surprising to see Margaery go behind Sam’s back. They were friends not lovers, but they still did not keep secrets from each other. Margaery loved to play the game of thrones, so blatant about it she constantly left Sam alone with their child to go to Highgarden or King’s Landing. They may not love or agree with the actions of each other, but they were happy he thought at least. Laenor remembered their wedding and the birth of Mace Tyrell’s and Randyll Tarly’s first granddaughter, Aenor Tarly, the glee both had on those days. “Did you know of this?” Laenor felt his eyes narrow.

“No! Of course not! This is the first time i'm hearing of this." Sam said with his hands up. "But that knight said that the Tyrells are among the prince’s allies,” Sam sighed in sadness, “Mace makes moves with only three people, Willis, Margaery, or Olenna. And Olenna is too old to care for this type of politics now.”

Laenor felt such a wave of sadness for his closest friend he could not keep it off his face. He kept his condolences at bay, Sam would not appreciate that. No, Sam hated pity, and pity from Laenor would make him angry at himself more than he is now.

“Laenor,” Sam stood his ground for his thoughts despite the betrayal he must feel inside, “go to Goldengrove, meet with Aegon, but do not agree until you are sure that is the path you will take. We have so little information on this plot to agree now would be unwise.”

This hastily made council of some of his most trusted allies gave him much to think about. But Laenor cannot deny the urge to leave this plot alone. However, he could not deny the type of power he would have over Aegon with this knowledge. Helping him or not, Laenor realized that Aegon is putting himself in a vulnerable position. Laenor could destroy his older brother or aid him regardless of the benefits and risks.

“I say we get some rest; we have guests and events to attend to” There was a knock on the room’s door. “Come in.” Ser Horace marched in.

“Your highness, there’s another group at the gates.” Laenor turned a sharp glare on the man. Horace swallowed his fear, “If I may, my prince?” Horace gestured to his ear. Laenor nodded and allowed Horace to whisper in his ear. “A knight with three dogs on his surcoat came unannounced. When I didn’t let his party in, he told me to fetch Morcar.”

Laenor felt the blush creep down his cheeks to his chest. He whispered back, “Did Morcar bring them inside?”

“He put them in Visenya’s Pagoda, your highness.” Laenor rose from his chair in a hurry. “Friends I shall see you in a few hours to break fast.” 

Ser Urklyn rose to follow as was his duty. Laenor stopped him. “Urklyn, get some rest, I have Ser Horace and all my other guards for a few hours.”

* * *

When they all left the rooms, that was when Laenor raced across the Dragonbird gardens, through the main courtyard. This time he did not care if he was seen. He passed by Lyanna’s Court. A building that looked half done. Twenty pillars held up a strong roof that covered a marble throne room, the only problem was that it had no walls. The marble throne room was open to all, as was its purpose.

Now, though, Laenor was not here for court, he crossed it in a rush to come to the back of the palace, circumventing Aegon’s Dome and the Tower of Rhaenys. “Ser Horace, run to the kitchens and have them send some peaches to my chambers in the pagoda. And have some men watch Urklyn, his loyalty i to the king not me, let no ravens fly.” Horace ran off to do as ordered, and afterward he would return to his post. His presence in the pagoda would ask questions and Laenor did not want to be the source of gossip for his men.

Laenor slowed his gait as the pagoda grew larger, it would not be welcome to appear sweaty and tired to a lady, much less a princess. With a slower pace he could admire the pagoda more. When Lyanna and Roeg designed Summerhall they wanted to keep the main style for the center of the palace. Such as the pale marble of Aegon’s Dome and Lyanna’s Court. But they wanted a palace with new sights to offer as well.

So Roeg designed the Tower of Rhaenys in the style of Old Valyria. A slender black tower that rose higher than the whole castle, nearly as tall as Storm’s End single tower, but less than half its size in circumference. The Dragonbird tower was in the style of Northern castle towers. Strong, thick, and circular. But Visenya’s Pagoda, it was made to honor Visenya’s magic side, and so they drew inspiration from Yi Tish towers. Built on a stone foundation, most of the pagoda was expensive wood. Its design had none of the defensive power the other towers had. It was purely for pleasure. Despite its weakness it is one of Laenor’s favorite places. He loved to lay down on its curved roofs, learning about the history of each painting and artwork to grace the walls. But mostly, it was his lover’s favorite tower.

Laenor scaled the tower, taking its lacquered goldenheart stairs two at a time till he reached the floor Daenora preferred to stay on. Before the huge oaken door standing guard was Sandor Clegane. Laenor schooled his features into one of pleasant surprise. Daenora loved her Dog, but Laenor and Sandor both care naught for each other. Sandor believes he is a horrible deceiver and Laenor thinks he needs to kill Gregor already or something.

“Clegane,” he greets the big man. “Was not expecting you for days according to Nora.”

“Prince Laenor,” his rough voice answers back. “The princess missed you, and she wanted to see your daughter.”

Laenor had to laugh. The day Daenora would want to willingly see Daella was the day Jena and Aemon come back to life. He did not question the big man though and opened the door, before he went in, he looked at Sandor, “Get some sleep. I’m sure she pushed you hard.”

Sandor nodded in thanks but did not move from his post. The antechamber was empty except for a blazing fire in the fireplace. He moved to the bedroom door. As he opened the door, he came close to crashing into the only friend Nora had, Gytha Drox.

She blushed so hard Laenor thought her skin would be red forever, “My prince, she is waiting for you.”

He kissed her hand, “You have my thanks Gytha,” he smiled politely while she blushed even worse. He stepped back for her to exit then closed the door behind himself. With a deep breath he entered the bedchambers. It was a well-furnished room. The floor was covered in a dark blue Myrish rug beautifully embellished in gold and silver and another rug of Qarth or Yi Ti made, was decorated in scenes of love and war. A large table held a flagon of wine and water, and a warm piece of bread. On the walls hung tapestries depicting long old and dead Targaryen kings, knights, queens, and dragonriders.

None of those expensive eye catchers mattered to him, his eyes were only drawn to the large canopy bed with crimson and blood red drapes intertwined, and an impossibly soft feather mattress. Daenora was nearly naked in her sheer emerald silk nightgown. The gown reached her thighs just barely. By design it drew the eye to her impossibly long and soft legs. Her hips were hand grabbing full, with her mother’s slim waist. The nightgown covered her breasts but hid none of its size. Plump, large, and perky, Laenor could love and caress them for days.

Her face was even more beautiful, she had the immaculate beauty of Cersei and the otherworldliness of Rhaegar; cherubic and aristocratic. She was amazing, and she knew it. How could she not when everyone groveled for her favor, though she only had arrows and barbs for their attempts.

He gulped before his slaver threatened to pour out of his mouth like a mastiff. “I did not expect you. You said you would leave Sunspear in a fortnight.” Remembering the letter from a senninght ago. Nora had been visiting their little sister Daenaera and her husband Trystane, as a cover to spend time in Summerhall on the ride there and back.

Her soft pink lips frowned, “That is what you are asking? A willing maid- “

“We both know no one here is a maid.”

She huffed, “A willing princess, then,” she smirked softly, “I am in your feather bed, wet and ready, and you ask about why I’m here?” Nora began to seductively crawl towards the edge of the bed, as if pulled Laenor walked to the bed. When he was at the edge, Nora walked her fingers up his chest, “I’m here for my dragonrider brother, of course.”

Calling each other _brother_ or _sister_ always managed to turn them on, it had Laenor straining in his breeches. Her fingers played in his beard, and she leaned forward to bite his ear. “Care to ride this dragon, Laenor?”

Once he uncovered her breasts and sucked on a nipple they were lost in pleasure. Laenor forgot about Aegon and his Volantene and their conflict with the Vale and King Rhaegar. Daenora took over his senses and bathed in her presence. And like always he spilled on the stomach...


	2. Tourney of Apples: Characters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every character that can and will appear

House Targaryen

**Rhaegar Targaryen** , King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, the Widower, rider of **Urrax** ,

  * first wife, { **Elia Martell** }, the One Day Queen, 
    * **Rhaenys** , Princess of Driftmark, married **Monford Velaryon** , 
      * **Monterys** , her young son,
    * **Aegon** , Crown Prince, Prince of Dragonstone, rider of **Vermithor** , 
      * his wife, **Ysilla** of House Royce,
      * his mistress, **Saera Tagaros** , of the Old Blood,
  * second wife, { **Lyanna Stark** }, the Builder, 
    * **Laenor** , the Prince of Summerhall and the rider of **Tessarion** , the _Ghost_ , 
      * his late wife, { **Jena** }, of House Dondarrion, 
        * their daughter, **Daella** , five,
    * **Laena** , the Adventurer and rider of **Sunfyre** , whereabouts unknown, never stays in one place long enough for letters to reach her,
  * his third wife, **Cersei Lannister** , the Light of the West, 
    * **Daemion** , twin to **Daenora** , betrothed to young **Janei Lannister** , Tywin is grooming him to be lord of Casterly Rock,
    * **Daenora** , twin to **Daemion** , ignores her parent's requests to find a husband, prefers to gallivant around the Seven Kingdoms, spending her year at Summerhall, Sunspear, King's Landing, and Casterly Rock,
    * **Daenaera** , wife of Prince **Trystane Martell** , hopefully pregnant with a Rhaegar Martell,
    * **Daeron** , the baby, he is to young to leave the nest, and Rhaegar keeps him close (just in case of his three dumb sons do something stupid),
  * his brother, Prince **Viserys Targaryen** , rider of **Onyx** , the _Black Wyrm,_
    * his wife, **Elaenyra Taennaris** , 
      * **Maegor** ,
      * **Rhae** ,
  * his sister, Princess **Daenerys Targaryen** , ride of **Terrax** , the _Blue_ _Monster_ , 
    * courting Ser **Edric Dayne** and Ser **Humfrey Hightower** ,



Tourney of Apples Attendees

Lord Rowan's household:

  * Lord **Mathis Rowan** , married **Bethany Redwyne** , 
    * his daughters, 
      * **Patricia Rowan** ,
      * **Petra Rowan** ,
      * **Judith Rowan** ,
    * his cousin, Ser **Gwendal Rowan** , he wants his son to be Lord of Goldengrove, not Patricia; he married **Patrice Beesbury** , 
      * Ser **Caspar Rowan** , married **Alynne Connington** ,
    * his cousin, **Rhonda Rowan** , married Ser **Baelor Hightower** ,
    * his household, 
      * Ser **Ronnet Connington** , brother of Alynne,
      * the twins, Ser **Bertram** and Ser **Braxton** , nephews of Patrice,
      * Maester **Rixner** ,



Prince Aegon's Entourage,

  * Ser **Rolly Duckfield** , Ser **Jonothor Darry** , Ser **Preston Greenfield** , Lord **Harrold Hardyng** , Lady **Myranda Royce** , Aegon's squire **Lyman Darry** , Ser **Harras Harlaw** , Ser **Lyle Crakehall** , Princess **Rhaenys** and **Monford Velaryon** , **Aurane Waters** , **Ysilla Royce** , Ser **Robar Royce** , **Saera** and **Haegon Tagaros** ,



Prince Laenor's host from Summerhall,

  * Princess **Daella** , Ser **Urklyn Magnar** , **Robb Stark,** Ser **Edric Dayne** , Laenor's squire **Edric Baratheon** , **Smalljon Umber** , **Gendry Baratheon** , **Samwell Tarly** , **Leobald** and **Benfred Tallhart** , **Ludd** , **Gwyn** , and **Gryff** **Whitehill** , Ser **Marq Piper** , and Maester **Roeg** ,



Lord Renly's Host from Highgarden,

  * **Garlan** and **Loras Tyrell** , **Margaery** and **Aenor Tarly** , and **Leonette Fossoway** , 



The Hosts from Lannisport,

  * Prince **Daemion Targaryen** , his unsavory knights: Ser **Warbeck** of Fairmarket, Ser **Perkin** of Tumbleton, Ser **John** of the Lonelystream, Ser **Landis** (Lann the Cutthroat) of Lannisport; his cousins: Ser **Willem** , Ser **Tygett** , Ser **Lancel** , and Ser **Tyrek Lannister** ,
  * Lord **Tyrion Lannister** , his wife **Malora Hightower** , and his two children **Tymond** and **Tysha** ; his knights Ser **Bronn** , Ser **Bornan Parren** , and Ser **Humfrey Hightower** ,



The Others,

  * **Emmon** , **Hosteen** , **Jared** , **Roslin** , **Cleos** , **Perwyn** , **Danwell** , **Olyvar Frey** and **Martyn Rivers** ,
  * **Guncer** , **Saman** , and **Manar Sunglass** ,
  * Ser **Clayton Rosby** , Ser **Garland** of Crabstone Isle, Ser **Talbert Serry** , Prince **Viserys Targaryen** , **Bronze Yohn Royce** , Ser **Andar Royce** , **Theon Greyjoy** , Ser **William Mertyns** the Pale, **Vimorys Taennaris** , Ser **Beric Dondarrion,** **Thoros** of Myr,



**Author's Note:**

> May delete but let me know in the comments if people are interested. I'm stuck on Stormbringer and Maester King, but I have at least six new ideas including this story. Depending on response I will try the other ideas, but at the moment I'm just trying to find the right story to get my creative juices running again.


End file.
